


All That We Were, All That We Knew

by hysteria87



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bearded Steve Rogers, F/M, Nomad Steve Rogers, Oral Sex, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Smut, Steve Rogers Angst, fuck the pain away, use of the r word but not the act
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:01:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24105592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hysteria87/pseuds/hysteria87
Summary: Men only came to this side of the city if they were looking for something. But Steve Rogers knew exactly what he had lost, he just didn't know how to get it back.
Relationships: Steve Rogers & Reader, Steve Rogers/Reader
Comments: 3
Kudos: 66





	All That We Were, All That We Knew

He was a soldier. Emphasis on was. Never one to outstay his welcome, the few hours he chose to share with you were more than enough. It was the same routine, over and over again. Show up just before closing. Sit at the far end of the bar, alone. Order one cheap beer but tip like he had drank all night. Small talk.

“What’s a guy like you doing in the shithole part of the city like this?” you asked during the first night, back when you were genuinely trying to figure him out. 

“Should ask you the same,” he breathed through well-kept teeth. Despite the beard and the clothes that didn’t 100% look like they were his own, he wasn’t a degenerate like the rest of the losers who hung around your bar. 

“I live here,” you murmured as you wiped down the last glass and set it on the shelf, “And we’re closed. I want to go home so finish up quick,” and you nodded towards the beer he had barely taken two sips of. He waved it away, signaling that you could clean it up and you rolled your eyes as you poured good beer down the sink.

Standing unceremoniously from the bar, he asked, “How are you getting home?”

“I walk. It’s not far, only a couple of blocks,” you replied plainly before his question really registered, “The fuck is it to you?”

“I’ll walk you. Make sure you get home okay,” he decided and alarm bells went off in your head. 

“Look, if you’re planning on trying to rape me, you should know I have a loaded Glock in my bag at all times-” you started and he stood back, hands raised.

“Jesus fuck, I’m not going to rape you,” he said. 

He fucked you right there on the floor of your apartment.

The two of you barely made it into the doorway before his lips were on your neck, those teeth scraping along your jawline. You had been wet from the moment his impossibly blue eyes met yours across the smooth oak of the bartop. His calloused, strong hands had no shyness about exploring you, about hiking up your skirt and pushing your panties to the side. The sweat soaked your shirt through, his flannel lost ages ago, and your nails left white hot trails in their wake against his hardened back muscles. Lips swallowing every moan he pulled out of you, hips slamming at a crushing pace. There was no pretense about him but no unkindness done; he moved as if he was sure he was going to lose you.

He was gone before you woke up.

Sometimes only a week would pass, other times months, but it was always the same. Show up just before closing. Sit at the far end of the bar, alone. Order one cheap beer but tip like he had drank all night. Small talk.

You loved when he would sit you on the bar, heels of your boots knocking over the clean glasses and bottles of well tequila as his beard tickled your thighs. You fisted his hair, a little longer than it was the last time, holding his lips right where you needed the most, three fingers crooked inside of you making sure that absolutely nothing went to waste. Tasting yourself on him was your favorite, even though it meant that you had to disinfect and rewax the bar the next day. 

He loved bending you over the shelves in the backroom, your knuckles white from gripping the nearest case of rum. He didn’t fucking care if anyone heard your labored whimpers as he held you to him, strong arms wrapped around your torso, hand palming a breast, fingers teasing a bud to hardness while the other swirled over your clit in time with his brutal thrusts. “I wanna hear you cum,” he breathed against your ear and that was all you needed, just his voice ordering your release. Taking him to the hilt, he joined you, those perfect teeth leaving perfect crescents on your shoulder. 

~~~

“What did you lose?”

“The fuck are you talking about?”

“No man keeps coming to this side of town unless he’s looking for something that he’s lost.”

He rolled over, giving you that strong, broken back your fingers had traced so many times you lost count.

“I’m not looking for shit.”

He was gone before you woke up.

He was AWOL, his longest stretch yet if you were the type to keep track of those sorts of things. The regulars filtered in and out day after day, men hard from work and just looking for a pretty face and kind voice for a few moments. You were more than willing to be that for them, but only until closing time. It was in those after-hours your mind would wander, your fingers wrapped tightly to the grip of the Glock, your heart barely admitting that you missed his overbearing presence. The walk home just seemed shorter when he was with you.

Ten minutes before closing. The same seat at the end of the bar, his backpack his only company. Longer hair that covered his eyes when he wasn’t sweeping it back with his fingers. The cheap beer was already uncapped before he could even try to order something different. There was no small talk, instead just sipping on his drink while everyone else emptied out. 

“You asked what I lost.”

You hummed in your throat, indicating that you were listening while counting down the cash drawer, “And you said you weren’t looking for anything.”

“I’m a fucking liar, you should know that first,” he mumbled, swallowing before letting his eyes meet your own.

“I lost family, in a way. My brothers, two sides of the same fucking coin that is my life. 

“I lost friends, accepting that I’ll never get to repay them the debt I owe. I lost faith in my country, condemning me to be nothing more than a criminal because I took a stand. 

“And I lost myself. All I fucking wanted was something other than what I had for so long. But now that everything is gone, I’m nothing more than a name in history.” 

You listened to him thoughtfully, pouring yourself a finger of whiskey just so he wouldn’t be drinking alone. Steve had some heavy baggage, shit that wasn’t exactly hard to find on the internet. He was a dangerous man… but he didn’t need to know all of that right now.

“I still think it’s better to be a name in history than to be nothing at all.”

His fingers tangled into your hair, strong hands gripped tight to hold your lips against his. Your own traced the dips and divots of his chest and torso, ones your fingers had memorized so many times before. Legs shaking as you straddled him, lips parting just long enough to let out a gasp as he entered you. He bit a trail down your neck to your chest, his hips setting a steady rhythm. 

He fucked you like he worshipped you.

Your skin the body of Christ, your sweat the blood, your peak his communion. His lips a ritualistic offering at your altar, he was atoning for sins that you had no authority to forgive. All you could do was to give yourself over to his power, to allow him to find what he was looking for within you. Shattered and spent, the warm air filled your lungs and your mind made no pretense to what this really was. 

“There’s one thing in this world that makes me feel more alive. And that’s you.”

You lightly shook your head as you sat up, reaching over his hips for his flannel.

“You’ve always been alive, you just needed to remember why.”

Fingers deftly moving over to do up a few of the buttons, his smell of blood and sweat searing itself in your brain. Turning your head over your shoulder, you caught his blue eyes in the slit of moonlight filtering through your window, “And it isn’t for me, Steve.”

The fire was still there, just behind the ice, but you knew in your heart it didn’t burn for you. His eyes pulled away as his jaw clenched under that beard that was so unlike him in history, but more akin to who he really was. He knew it as true; you gained nothing from lying to him and stood to lose it all by speaking the truth into existence. 

Dressing in the shadows, echoes of that star emblazoned on his chest.

Pressing one final bruising kiss to your swollen lips, Captain America left before you could fall asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you thought


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